Bring Your Brokenness
by Draco-senpai
Summary: Bakugou Katsuki works part-time at a Western cafe in the city. He's caught in a lull during the supposedly transitional stage of his life. But a man interrupts the monotonic drone of life with his confidence and wit, and Katsuki can't help but be intrigued. How is he to know this man was tied to the shadows of his past? One-Shot. No Quirks AU. Slice of Life.


Summary:

Bakugou Katsuki works part-time at a Western cafe in the city. He's caught in a lull during the supposedly transitional stage of his life. But a man interrupts the monotonic drone of life with his confidence and wit, and Katsuki can't help but be intrigued. How is he to know this man was tied to the shadows of his past?

Beginning Notes:

"Bring your brokenness, and I'll bring mine / 'Cause love can heal were hurt divides / And mercy's waiting on the other side / If we're honest."

—If We're Honest, Francesca Battistelli

Beta'd by Chibi_Potter

* * *

Katsuki sat on a barstool, his gaze trained on his guitar as he improvised in the intervals between singers. It was open-mic night at the small cafe where he worked part-time, and as per usual, the owner had requested Katsuki to perform. Katsuki was somewhat of a prodigy on the acoustic guitar. He had spent hours on his father's guitar when he had first found it stuffed in some closet so many years ago.

In those middle school years, Katsuki had dreamed to become a famous guitarist that played before crowds of a thousand fans, all cheering and clapping as he struck the final cord—but it was an absurd pipe dream, one he had long grown out of. Besides, most pop songs were cheap when it came to a unique guitar tab, and most people only cared about the lyrics anyway. That always made Katsuki mad. If you took away the accompaniment, many of the lead pop artists wouldn't hold their rankings for a minute. Katsuki enjoyed complexities and adding a bit of himself into the tunes he played; even if that meant playing for the couples and friend groups out for a bite of dinner or a light drink.

The patrons of the small cafe were generally courteous people. And most of the brave souls that stepped behind the mic were just looking for a laugh. Sometimes they were good; other times, not so much. Katsuki merely played for them, knowing his efforts would accumulate in the end to a fair check for his study fund. For uni, or wherever he was going.

"Hey," called a smooth voice above him.

Katsuki looked up without faltering in his fingering.

A man had stepped forward onto the stage. He looked to be close to Katsuki's own age, but that was where their similarities ended. The man had dark hair and eyes that shone green in the cafe lighting. With an easy smile and relaxed demeanor, he had an air of a kind of person that could be everyone's friend.

"Have a song?" Katsuki prompted, looking down at his guitar again.

"Do you know _Hello, Shooting-Star_?"

Katsuki snorted and shot a glance at the man. "By Moumoon?" At the man's nod, Katsuki shook his head. "Nerd."

"Says the one who recognized it," the man retorted without missing a beat, but there was no heat in his words.

Deciding not to dignify him with a response, Katsuki ended his improvisation and waited for the new singer to settle. The man pulled the mic from its stand and sat on the second barstool. Once he was done fidgeting, he looked at Katsuki expectantly.

Katsuki began the first bar—strumming what was usually the part of the electric guitar. There was a subtle art in transposing an electric guitar tab to acoustic, but he liked to think he pulled it off better than most. Clever strumming and ever-changing fingering thrilled the musician in Katsuki. He plucked his well-worn strings with bare fingers, rough with callouses from years of faithful practice. As he approached the singer's entrance, the man straightened his back.

"Taiyou ga sasu," he sang in a smooth, easy tenor, "tozashita mabuta no—"

The entire song went so easily that, for the first time while playing for open-mic, Katsuki lost himself entirely in the music—the combined music of guitar and voice. As he strummed the last cord, cheers and claps rose from the onlooking patrons.

"Good song," the man said and turned to Katsuki, offering a grin and extended hand.

With that, the man left the stage, and Katsuki found himself strumming out a replay of _Hello, Shooting-Star_, the echo of the man's firm grip on his hand.

A week had passed, and so open-mic night was upon the cafe once again. Katsuki found himself strangely more attentive tonight—more aware of his surroundings. He didn't like it. It was evidence of the tiny spark of interest in his heart. He was hoping to see the dark-haired tenor from the previous week, despite so many odd variables against the possibility. Katsuki hadn't recognized the man as a regular. There was no guarantee he would visit the cafe ever again. That thought loomed gloomily in the back on his mind, although he tried his best to ignore it.

For a long time, his father's guitar had been his only companion. Middle school was rough for any kid, and Katsuki had found himself constantly reaching for the stringed instrument the moment he came home. Whatever loneliness he may have felt as the unliked kid, he drowned it out with music. He and his guitar were intimately acquainted, and that satisfied him… for the most part.

But tonight he was distracted. He would catch himself staring out at the entrance and neglecting to study the subtle cues of the singers' dynamics and pauses. If the patrons noticed, they didn't let on. In fact, the air of the cafe was as it always was, relaxed and friendly.

Katsuki played in the lull of the empty mic when a new group of patrons entered. Katsuki didn't know what he was playing. He could hear his strings vibrating, but the notes didn't register in his ears because _that_ man was a part of the group.

Against all the odd variables, the dark-haired man glanced up at the cafe's stage and smiled at Katsuki—he even waved.

Katsuki dropped his gaze to his guitar, fighting the urge to wave back. He was playing, couldn't he see that? In spite of his mild irritation, Katsuki felt a genuine smile creep on his features. The somewhat perturbed feeling he had been suppressing all evening soothed considerably. He licked his lips to rid the testament of his relief and tried once again to refocus on his performance.

When the next singer approached the mic, Katsuki almost smiled as he glanced up from his guitar. He was instantly grateful he hadn't because the open-mic participant before him was certainly_ not_ the dark-haired tenor Katsuki had been expecting. The singer stumbled through the words of a traditional folk song as Katsuki strummed through the simple configuration of chords and split his attention to search the cafe for the dark-haired tenor. The singer seemed to have had one too many beers to notice anyway.

The guitarist finally did catch sight of the man standing amongst his friends by the small bar counter. He looked to be drinking something, but Katsuki couldn't make it out between the angled bodies and heads. Katsuki resigned himself to accompanying the singer, a hair's breadth away from being full on drunk.

Katsuki had gone through two more accompaniments before the man he had been trying to ignore confronted him. He didn't approach the mic, instead, he walked straight up to where Katsuki's barstool stood off to the left of the mic. The man stopped just short of the little stage.

"I really enjoy your playing," said the tenor with a pleasant smile. He didn't seem awe-struck or bursting with enthusiasm. In fact, Katsuki found he liked that the statement sounded casual—as if testimony to its authenticity. "Do you take tips?"

Katsuki nodded down at the empty and open guitar case laying on the floor in front of the stage. He pretended not to watch the man draw a bill from his wallet and drop it in the case.

The man looked about ready to leave, but Katsuki called, "What, no singing tonight?"

The man laughed lightly, "And risk being booed off the stage?"

Katsuki struck a chord harder than necessary, "Is this sarcasm or modesty from the man who was almost cheered to an encore last week?"

The man bit his lip and ducked his head in a surprisingly bashful manner that seemed to go against his previous air of easy self-confidence—the air that more than likely drew people to him like flies. But the moment was over, and the dark-haired tenor was stepping boldly onto the stage.

"And what masterpiece have you chosen tonight?" Katsuki smirked as the man once again pulled the mic from the stand and settled on the second barstool.

The tenor seemed to think for a moment before he looked at the guitarist fully and said, "_Signal_ by Toru Kitajima."

Katsuki let out a short laugh. Something that almost surprised himself to hear. "You watch too much anime."

"And, apparently, so do you, if recognizing it as one is any indication," the man's ready retort lashed in good humor. Katsuki saw the green eyes were dancing with it.

* * *

With his guitar case in hand, Katsuki had begun toward the cafe's employee exit when a commotion caught his attention. Two part-time waitresses sat on a bench near a row of lockers; one was sobbing hysterically into the shoulder of her friend.

"I can't wait that long. I can't—I can't—"

"I know."

"What's going on here?" Katsuki demanded with a frown. He didn't like seeing fellow employees in distress, especially in a place that thrived in a mellow, welcoming atmosphere.

"I'm sorry, Bakugou-san," said the one who wasn't crying. "Misaki-chan is—"

"My boyfriend is being deported at eight," the other wailed. "He didn't tell me until today—but now my shift is starting, and—" She once again succumbed to her sobs.

"He'll be gone for eighteen months," the friend explained. "They'll only be able to exchange written letters."

Katsuki glanced at the digital clock on the wall. It was almost five o'clock. "This would be the last time you saw him before he left?" Katsuki asked, turning back to the girls.

"Yes," the friend conceded when the distraught girl could only nod.

Making up his mind, he nodded back and set his guitar down near the lockers. "Then you should go to him."

"But-but-but," the girl stammered as he opened his own locker door. "My shift—"

"I'm covering it, stupid," Katsuki explained with a roll of his eyes and grabbed his uniform out of the locker. "Go to your boyfriend."

The girl stared at him blankly for a moment when it finally seemed to click in her brain. She sprung to her feet and all but assaulted him with her forehead in a deep bow. "Oh, thank you!" she cried. Then, in a blur of motion, she gathered her things and was out the door.

"That was very kind of you, Bakugou-san," her friend said as Katsuki slammed the locker door and started toward the changing room.

"I need the extra hours," Katsuki dismissed.

When dinner rush had nearly passed, Katsuki was bending over a table to buff the surface. It was just as he finished that a familiar "hey" interrupted his single-minded task.

Katsuki snapped up to find the dark-haired tenor standing before him wearing an amused grin.

"I thought you were just part of the entertainment," the man said almost cheekily. "Didn't realize you were a busboy, too."

A middle schooler—heck, a _high_ schooler Katsuki might have positively exploded at the bait dangled before him; however, Katsuki liked to think he had matured enough to recognize when teasing was or wasn't meant to hurt. He straightened, slung the rag over his shoulder, and set his hands on his hips. "I'm a lot of things. The cafe busboy and musician is just my alter ego for my secret life as Japan's number one superhero."

"I see—saving the city from seemingly invincible villains, giant robots, extraterrestrial invaders, and the sort?" the man played along, his grin only widening.

"And now I see you watch too much American Television, too," Katsuki concluded with a hidden smirk as he moved to the next dirty table.

The dark-haired man laughed but made no move to deny the accusation. Following Katsuki to his next table, he sobered a bit. "Actually, I-uh…"

Katsuki glanced at the man who seemed to be reverting to that odd, shy bashfulness again.

"I wanted to ask," the man started, "if you wanted to join me for a drink when you're off."

Katsuki turned his attention to the table top and whipped the rag off his shoulder. "Sorry, I'm underaged," he said as he scrubbed at the surface.

The dark-haired tenor laughed nervously. "No, I—that is, I meant to say coffee. Do you want to join me for coffee?—after you're done."

Katsuki looked at the man once more. A slight flush had settled on his freckled cheeks, but he held his ground and refused to drop his gaze.

"Why?" the question rose from Katsuki's lips before he could properly filter it.

"Well," the man said, crossing his arms in a strangely defensive manner, "to tell the truth, you remind me of someone I knew a long time ago. So... I just wanted to get to know you better."

"Do I?" Katsuki asked, taken by surprise. "Who?"

The sound of shattering glass tore their attention away.

"_Who gave that child a glass cup?_" Katsuki hissed under his breath.

"Later," the man promised. "When will we meet?"

"I'm off at ten," Katsuki said while trying to catch the eye of another waitress.

"Then, I'll be outside."

The man slipped away as Katsuki left to survey the damages.

* * *

They settled for a 24-hour coffee shop a short walk from the cafe. Katsuki ordered a simple and cheap twelve-ounce coffee. Briefly, he wondered if the dark-haired tenor was one of those people who ordered ridiculously complex coffees. But when the man ordered a traditional green tea, Katsuki grit his teeth lest he say one of the tactless comments that came to him so easily.

Once stationed at a table near the wall with their respective beverages, the man said, "I should probably introduce myself properly. My name is Midoriya." He offered a hand across the table.

It was obvious the man, Midoriya-san, had used his family name. In respect, Katsuki grasped his hand and replied, "Bakugou."

"So you _are_ Bakugou-san?" Midoriya-san repeated as they released the handshake.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Katsuki asked, humor the guise of his caution. He took an experimental sip of his coffee. He knew he should have added more sweetener.

"No—I mean, you don't recognize my name?"

Katsuki set his coffee on the table and stared at it intently as he laced his fingers around the warm cup. Finally, he glanced up uneasily at the man across from him. "Should I?"

"I suppose not," Midoriya-san relented. He took a sip of his tea before continuing. "I'm sorry, I hadn't intended to start this conversation so awkwardly."

Katsuki lifted his cup. "But that's what the coffee's for, right?" He took another sip for emphasis.

Midoriya gave a short laugh. "Of course." Suddenly, he looked puzzled.

"What?" Katsuki asked, but he was waved off.

"Nothing, I—" Midoriya-san began but paused as if mastering his tone. "I was wondering if you go to school around here."

"Ah—no," Katsuki said quickly before tasting his coffee again. It was still too bitter. Midoriya-san followed his example. "I'm taking a break from school, I guess."

"Are you planning to go back next spring?"

"I don't know," Katsuki answered truthfully, but diverted further questions by quickly adding, "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm a student at the local university," Midoriya-san replied.

"Major?"

"Actually," Midoriya-san said with a sheepish grin, "I'm taking their two-year program in communications and broadcast journalism. I'm an intern at the radio complex in the city center."

"You're a radio host?" Katsuki asked with a hint of disbelief.

"No, I'm an intern," Midoriya restated, "but eventually, yeah, that's what I aim to be."

Katsuki ventured to take another sip of his coffee. "Wait, if you're working there—isn't that the place where they broadcast that pop station? The one with all the anime songs?"

"It's one of the stations we broadcast, yes."

"Guess that explains your song choices," Katsuki smirked behind the rim of his coffee cup.

"They're good songs!" Midoriya-san protested, but he was grinning nonetheless. "And I get to hear them every day."

"Whatever you say, Host Midoriya," Katsuki teased.

Midoriya laughed.

Katsuki let a moment of silence settle between them before he asked, "Why a radio host? Seems kind of… out there, you know?"

"Well, I've been told I like to talk," the man said with another laugh. Katsuki let a grin tease his features. "But I guess I like the journalism aspect of it more. I get to tell people about important events and stories. In a way, it makes my voice important. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does, actually," Katsuki answered instantly. That reasoning was similar to Katsuki's own when he had picked up his father's guitar.

"So, are you planning to pursue a life in the music industry?"

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "I'm good, but I'm not _that_ good."

"Nonsense!" Midoriya countered.

"Besides," Katsuki spoke over him, "I don't really know what I want to do for a career. I just need to find something before my mom kicks me out."

"She wouldn't do that," Midoriya-san said as an automatic response.

"I wish I shared your confidence," Katsuki muttered, taking a good swig of his coffee.

"When did you start playing?" Midoriya asked, sipping his tea.

"Middle school. First or second year—I forget when I actually got serious about it."

"_Really?_" The surprise in Midoriya-san's voice made Katsuki sit a little straighter in his chair.

"What, is it that hard to believe?"

"No, I just—" the man paused. "What middle school did you go to, Bakugou-san?"

"Uh…" Katsuki waved a hand over his shoulder. "The one halfway across town. Why?"

"Because I went there, too," Midoriya-san said quietly. "We were in the same class."

Katsuki stared at the man across for him. He tried—really tried—to place his face amongst the blur of faces he recalled from that time. He couldn't. "I—uh," Katsuki tried to laugh a little but it sounded forced. He barrelled ahead. "I honestly don't remember that."

Midoriya's expression suddenly looked hurt. "Yes, I deduced that." The man made to move away from the table.

"Wait!" Katsuki said swiftly. "I'm sorry, I just—hadn't realized. Just-just let me to explain."

Midoriya-san settled again but stared intently at his tea.

Katsuki looked down at his coffee as well and inhaled a calming breath. "Middle school wasn't the best of times for me. I was convinced the whole world was out to get me, and I lashed out on people who tried to tell me otherwise. Honestly, I was a friendless jerk back then, and looking back, I don't know how I graduated."

Midoriya-san sat quietly for a moment.

"My full name is Midoriya Izuku," he explained. His given name struck a somewhat familiar cord in Katsuki's brain, but he couldn't say why. "It was you who first called me Deku—useless." Midoriya took a deep breath. "The name stuck with the other kids, and that was the way I was treated, as something worthless. I hated myself for it."

Katsuki sat numbly in his chair. Here, sitting directly opposite of him was a victim from his past violence, a reality he had tried so hard to escape. He couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"I—"

"Stop!" Midoriya exclaimed, thrusting his hands toward Katsuki and closing his eyes.

Whatever words Katsuki might have said died on his tongue.

"I didn't ask you to join me here to extract excuses or apologies from you," said Midoriya-san. He refocused on his tea and folded his hand around the cup once more. "I actually wanted to see if you had changed… from when I knew you."

"You recognized me?" Katsuki asked disbelievingly. Why would he intentionally seek out his past antagonizer? Had Katsuki been in Midoriya's shoes, he would have cursed himself nine ways to hell—not to mention, avoid the cafe like the plague.

"I did," Midoriya-san conceded, "but not for certain."

"I see," Katsuki said for lack of a better response.

"Bakugou-san," Midoriya began haltingly. "I've talked to you for like—an hour, and I can see you're not the kid that used to hate me anymore. I—"

"But, I am" Katsuki interjected. "That kid who was too absorbed in himself to realize he was hurting others is still a part of me. I didn't bother to remember you."

Midoriya-san went a little pink before confessing, "Well, I was only there for three quarters. I transferred before the end of the year because, well—"

"Because of the bullying," Katsuki filled in.

Midoriya rolled his lips over his teeth.

"I attempted suicide."

Katsuki stared into his coffee. It had grown lukewarm. Even if he had the desire to finish it, he didn't think he could stomach it. He felt sick.

Katsuki forced air into his lungs and tried hard not to let it shake as he blew it out. He set his jaw and dragged his eyes up to meet the green across from him. He knew "I'm sorry" would never account for all of Midoriya's pain and daily struggle. So he bit back the automatic reply and instead said the words he had once longed to hear himself.

Making sure he had the man's eye contact, Katsuki said, "I'm glad you're still here."

Midoriya's hands flew to his mouth and pressed tightly, but his eyes, although blinking rapidly, held Katsuki gaze. Then, he took a sharp breath and exhaled in a mixture of sobs and giggles. Peeling his hands from his face, the man pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned over the table, resting his elbow on the surface. He squeezed his eyes shut but a watery smile stretched his lips.

"How on Earth do you know exactly what to say to me?" Midoriya-san asked in a strained voice despite his persistent smile.

Katsuki thought he might have meant it rhetorically, but he answered anyway. "Because I was there once."

Midoriya's eyes popped open and he straightened up quickly. "You-you too?"

Katsuki dropped his gaze to his cup once more. "I never—I hadn't followed it through." But he had been frighteningly close to it.

The entire day, Katsuki had carried a bottle of his father's sleeping pills in his pocket. In many ways, the idea of falling asleep and never waking again was appealing. He kept it all throughout school, daring Providence to give him one good reason to stay in this life.

He came home and holed up in his room, buried under blankets and pillows. It was only when his father walked into his room that Katsuki stirred. He shoved the pills under his pillow and shot out of bed, almost falling over in his hast. He was so sure his father would spit fire and demand his pills back.

"_So, I noticed you've been into my things recently_," his father began.

Katsuki quivered on the spot.

"_And because of that, I've decided to give you something._"

It was then his father pushed a black pick with an orange "X" across it into his hand. Katsuki looked up at his father in silent question.

"_That, young man, is a very special pick. It was my favorite, and it helped me win the heart of your mother_."

Any other day, Katsuki might have exclaimed in disgust and attempted to throw it back at his father, but that day, he had stared at his father and asked, "_Why?_" He closed a hand over the plastic pick and fought back tears.

"_Son_," his father said setting a hand on his shoulder and bending down slightly to his eye level, "_I haven't played that guitar in years. It deserves to be played by someone I know will honor and care for it. Will you do that for me?_"

Katsuki's father had no idea that he had saved his son's life. In fact, Katsuki had never admitted what he had meant to do with those pills out loud before now. Although he hadn't explained much, he felt oddly exposed in front of this virtual stranger.

A hand latched onto Katsuki's foreman and squeezed. Katsuki jerked his head up to be met by Midoriya's gaze. Tears had slid down his cheeks, but he didn't bother to hide them.

"I'm so glad you're still here."

It was Katsuki's turn to raise a hand to his face. He palmed at it, digging forefinger and thumb into his eyes to discourage the gathering moisture and fight the rising lump in his throat. After a few moments, he collected himself enough to drop his hand and take a shuddering breath. He nodded at the man's words.

Katsuki was in almost full control again when Midoriya-san released his arm and sat back with a shaky laugh, "Gosh, I didn't ask you to join me to have a good cry, either."

Despite all the odd variables that had brought them together that night and all the past demons they had drug into the light, a grin broke from Katsuki's face, then a laugh followed. Soon enough, the two were laughing like a pair of teenagers until they were clutching their sides and gasping for air.

It was Midoriya-san who recovered first. "I haven't laughed like that in ages…" he said wistfully.

"Me neither," Katsuki said, his own voice hushed.

"I used to hate you," Midoriya continued, "I used to hate myself. But I don't anymore, not myself—not you."

"I'm so sorry—"

"Don't be," Midoriya interrupted. "We can't change what's in the past. But I lived through it, and so did you. We grew up a little—you know, a little older, a little wiser?" Midoriya teased with a small smile. Katsuki gave him a light snort even as his lips curved upward.

"We grew into what we needed to become," Midoriya went on. "I became self-confident and sure-footed, and surrounded myself with friends. You—well, only you can speak for yourself—but I can see the evidence of your kindness and empathy, even your humor, that you had locked away when I had known you."

"It was locked away for a long time," Katsuki whispered, not knowing if the man could hear him.

"Therefore, I want to do something I hadn't been able to do when we were classmates—and strangers." For the third time, Midoriya-san stretched out a hand. "Bakugou Katsuki, will you be my friend?"

Katsuki hesitated, "Are you sure?"

"Very sure," Midoriya answered immediately.

"Okay," Katsuki said, and they shook hands in newfound brotherhood.

* * *

Ending Notes:

I'm going to state my disclaimer here: I'm American. Although I tried my best to keep the setting in Japan, there are obvious places where my own culture has influenced my writing. There's always a scale of "western" influence and "traditional" culture—so, I think a "Western Cafe" best describes the setting of this story. And as for tips and handshakes—again, this is my culture and my experience talking. I hope the "un-Japanese-ness" of this work didn't take away from the experience. *SMILEY FACE.*

A great story influence I used in the creation of this small plot-bunny was _A Silent Voice [Koe no Katachi] _(you _all_ need to read/watch this, Imma just saying). If you hadn't caught the references of the "anime songs" Izuku sings, _Hello, Shooting-Star_ by Moumoon is the first ending of _Assassination Classroom_ and _Signal_ by Toru Kitajima (TK) is the opening for _91 Days _(I have to say, Amy B's acoustic cover of _Signal_ was what I was imagining during their session).

This was uploaded on AO3 last week, but I wanted to publish on both of my accounts. I hope you've enjoyed my piece.

Thank you for reading. It means so, so much to me when you leave comments and pick favorite!

_Doumo arigatou gozaimashita!_ —Chibi_Potter


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